Time, it tells the truth from lies

She woke up to the chills running across her toes. Beneath the red knitted socks, she could still feel the icy coldness of her skin. Turning around on the small single sized bed, she saw snowflakes illuminated against the orangey light of the lamp-post outside the window.

Forcing herself to get an extra pair of socks, she dragged herself out of bed only to find herself bumping into the two open volumes of Anatomy atlas, that were lying open on the floor.

She mumbled a soft curse, before picking them clumsily up, piling them onto the already messy table. Bio-organic chemistry textbook, stacked upon an open page of Biology book and the General Chemistry lecture notebook was pushed aside, as if forgotten.

Her face screwed up in annoyance. It was the weekend, and she was stuck with so many things to cover, she wondered if it was even humanely possible. Giving up on the pair of socks, she sat up in bed, hand phone in her hand, staring longingly into the wallpaper of her parents, smiling back at her and sighed inwardly. How on earth did she end up here?

She woke up the next morning to a cramped neck. She had fallen asleep on the table again. Stretching her neck cautiously, she groaned when she saw the time. It was 6 am, and also time to get up. Although it was still pitch black outside, she would have to leave in an hour. Chemistry classes took at least one and a half hours to get to, minus the walking distance through the snow.

She let out a frustrated sigh when she heard the soft splattering of the shower being run. The toilet was occupied, which means that she would have to wait for her turn. That would take another extra 10 minutes. Picking herself from the chair, she moved to the fridge for a mug of milk. She hated swapping breakfast slot over shower, but she had no choice. Time was ticking.

Putting down the pen, she stared down at the empty answer sheet. She hated Physics more than anything else. It just didn’t make sense. She looked around as the others handed in their answer sheets and headed out for lunch before the lecture that afternoon and wondered if it was alright to forfeit this test and retake it next week. Deciding against any chance, she scribbled last minute everything that she had inside her shriveled brain.

Walking back home, she dodged the speeding figures heading towards the hostel and puffed an indignant sigh of protest. They were racing for the stoves at the pantry. There goes any hope for an early dinner, she thought as she reached inside her pocket for a packet of whole-wheat graham crackers from this morning.

And that was how her days went by.

5 years later

The alarm rang at 6am and she found herself kicking off the covers as she made her way towards the shower. It is usually empty at this time of the morning, as everybody grew lazier for an early start of the day. It left her time for a leisurely shower and ample time for breakfast later.

Drying off her hair on a smaller towel, she emptied a sachet of coffee pre-mix into her jumbo sized white mug, pouring hot water in it to a tantalizing aroma of hot coffee. Smiling, she sipped her coffee as she flicked her Samsung to life, tuning into CNNmobile for a brief sweep of today’s news and weather forecast.

An hour later found her snuggled warmly into her neckwarmers as she braved through the morning mist and snow, heading towards the subway, high boots protecting her legs and warm gloves keeping her fingers from numbing to the cold.

Thanking the patient for his cooperation, she went into the lounge to get the case report for her patient. Finding it easily on the rack to the side of the room, she grabbed her bag as she made her way towards the benches to examine the anamnesis closer. Stashing her stethoscope into her pockets, she started to jot down notes on her notebook. The Russian cursive no longer a bother as her eyes grew accustomed to it and the language no longer a hassle as her vocabulary grew throughout the years.

Stepping into the lecture hall 5 minutes later, she greeted her colleagues above their noisy chatters and whispered gossips. Skipping lunch for a chocolate bar and water, she too joined into their conversation as she caught up to the lives of Spartiv’s elites.

Picking up grocery from the market across the hotel became more of a habit than a necessity. As she asked for a portion of chicken breast, she wondered what to cook for dinner. The kitchen was empty in the early evening. That was the time she liked to cook. Free from the rush and hassle of her other 8 housemates. Chopping up the ingredients effortlessly, she threw them one by one into the pan, almost automatically. Half an hour later, dinner was done. Stir fried vege and ayam masak merah with rice.

Later that night, she was facing her laptop, an open volume of Harrison’s Internal Medicine next to her. Clearing up some facts online, she hummed in approval as Wikipedia satisfied her curiousity. Grabbing an empty A4 paper on the printer, she began scribbling notes to the accompaniment of her iTunes, on shuffle.

That was how her life evolved.

A Broken Jar of Hearts

Today is your day.

Now is the time when you are at your lowest, and I watch you helplessly as you cried yourself to sleep. I listened as you poured your heart out, seeking comfort and reassurance. Lying by your side on the green mattress as we spoke nonsense into the depth of the night, I can only imagine the amount of pain you are going through.

Moscow is cold. Literally, and metaphorically. And I regretted that she welcomed you this way; bitterly and unforgiving.

Life is unfair, but I wondered why Fate has chosen now to end your four year long relationship. And I questioned why Time had chosen this moment for you to discover that he had another love within his heart. This moment when you are most fragile, when you are at your lowest.

At this point of time, I can only offer my shoulder for you to cry on.

Mother Russia, she’s not unkind and unforgiving. She’s a patriot of strength and will. She brought me up into this person I am.

She taught me the pain of loss, and helped me heal with the presence of God.

She whispered to me the meaning of friends and loyalty, because at the moment of my despair, I seek comfort from the hands that are linked with mine, bonded by the love of God. Until that moment, I never knew that there were so many hands supporting me from the back.

She told me to be independent, that there is nothing I cannot do on my own. Because she said that men are beasts, and that human are sinners.

So as I wiped your tears away, I told you what I thought was best.

I told you that giving up is the easiest and the least painful option.

But I also said that I think you should fight, because four years did not just pass by in a blink of an eye. If you really treasure those memories, then you should protect what is dear to your heart.

I told you, the pain of being let go without a fight, because that was what I have been through. I went through the despair of losing a battle without a fight. It’s true it hurt less, but despair is worse than pain. A wound can be healed, but despair leaves no wound, so there is nothing to heal. But you feel it all the same, deep down, nagging and biting at your conscience.

Hugging you tight at passport control, you thanked me over and over again. I feel no need for that.

Today, I feel your pain. Who knows in future, you would feel mine.

valentine virgin

The image on the mirror is not the same as the girl standing in front of it. In her eyes, it never will be. No matter how others view her, what others see, in her eyes are only reflections of the past.

Ghosts that haunt her memories. 

Taunts that invade her dreams. 

Memories that scar her heart.

Stepping away from the full length mirror, she grabbed her chain-sling bag, as she slipped on the 2.5 inch heels she so much adored. Dangling the car keys in one hand, she made her way towards the parking lot.

She parks into a parking space outside of Starbucks. Mornings start with coffee, a habit. A bad one at that. Ordering caffe latte; low-fat, to go was a routine she adhered to like a religion.

Walking towards the terrace, she felt herself shrink. People were starting to pour into the plaza, as morning slowly creeps away. She grasps the paper cup almost too tightly. And she feels her pace quicken.

She feels their eyes on her, scrutinizing.

She hears their whispers in amplified hertz.

She starts to shake, as she quickly broke into a steady pace of a jog. 

She feels them, so unforgiving and cold. 

She hears their mockery and sarcasm.

It was not the same people, it was not the present time, but she hears it all the same. The people from the past, the skeletons in the closet.

Slumping into the seat of her car, she found some comfort. Not even starting the ignition, she checked herself in the rear view mirror, tears already smudging the black eyeliners.

Instead of the gorgeous young lady with a long slender face and high cheekbones, it was still that pudgy faced girl from 7 years ago looking back at her. At she doesn’t think anything has changed.

It never will, unless she stops seeing the past, making room for the image of the present. Until that, nothing will change. Nothing.

memories are so unforgiving.
unforgivingly beautiful.
unforgivingly painful.

Can you hear me?

I dream of Lancelot and Guinevere,

Hope of an epic romance between Aragorn and Arwen,

Like the legendary love and sacrife of Romeo and Juliette,

But my love was not great,

It died halfway,

Tattered, wilted, shattered.

Unlike Lancelot, you did not fight for me. 

And unlike Juliette, I will not die for you.

Instead of lying in a bed of white roses,

I run across a field of paper flowers,

Screaming red butterflies,

...

To an echo of silence.

I left

And you let me go.

Leaving you granted me wings,

Like angels; that I feel that I can soar,

And as I flew freely higher,

The sun is unforgivingly dazzling,

Scorching, and burning

I wonder

Am I numbed from the pain by euphoria?

Or am I slowly withering?

I can't tell them apart

Because the view from up high is too great to give up.

And here I am again.

drabbles..

He woke up with a start, and cursed when he saw that dawn has passed. The sun was beginning to rise, leaving orange strips of sky revealed through the open window of his room, overlooking the vast expanse of the South China Sea. He was late.

Stumbling out of bed, he pulled on a fresh pair of jeans as he made his way to the toilet to wash up. Merely seconds later, he exited with drops of water dripping at the end of his overgrown bangs, mouth smelling of colgate.

He scanned his messy room for his Nikon dslr, but it was in vain. The floors were strewn with photographs and a line hung across the room, where dozens of self developed pictures hung. His laptop lay open on the study table, and about half a dozen electrical gadgets were scattered all over the place.

The pictures were almost identical, most of them taken at dawn, with the sun rising across the sea’s horizon. And within all the pictures was a silhouette of a girl, with long legs, hair up in a ponytail, jogging barefooted along the shores of the beach and nothing more. The images of her were all over the room, from the photographs to the wall paper of his laptop. Ironically though, he had no idea who she was or how she looked like. The photos were only a shadow of his mystery girl.

He made his way downstairs towards the kitchen counter and smiled. His Nikon was there, next to a mug of steaming coffee. He made a mental note to thank his mother later, as he gulped down the coffee and rushed through the backyard, opening to the beach.

The path to the beach was a bit tricky. There was a tiny forest of shrubs he had to pass before he could reach the shore. But the cooling shades of the trees made the whole journey looked magical, especially with rays of sunshine peeking through the leaves, playing a puppet show of shadows on the ground.

He didn’t have his hopes high. He was very late, that he knew. The sun had fully risen, casting majestic gold rays on the beach. Heaving a sigh of frustration, he tried diverting his disappointment by capturing the alluring morning panorama instead. Moving the lenses along the beach to find the right angle, he stopped short when he saw the familiar silhouette, sitting on the beach. Long legs stretched outwards, palms resting backwards as she gazed towards the sea. The angle was perfect.

Click. Click. Click.

And she turned around at the sound of his shutters, long black hair flowing in a cascade of ebony waves. He saw her almond shaped eyes widen in mild surprise, as she blinked those heavy black lashes of hers in utter amazement. He felt his camera slip from his grasp when she suddenly smiled, dimples forming on both her cheeks.

“You are late.”

이별

It’s an alien feeling for her. And she couldn’t put a finger on how she felt. She couldn’t define her feelings. Or rather, her pride wouldn’t let her admit to the pain. So her sub consciousness acts like a battalion of army, protecting the sanity or the mind, keeping the pieces of her heart together.

Her subconscious shield is also the morphine, numbing her senses, rendering it dull. That is why there is no pain. There are no tears, there is no sadness. And yet her heart sags with a dull sense of emptiness.

Amazed at her own defense mechanism, she fell in love with songs of heartbreak and melancholy. Because the pain from the lyrics and the dripping grief from the music reminds her how human she is, although it is an emotion she has been so long deprived of, she is still capable of comprehending the depth of it.

So that is why, one morning on the way to class, earphones plugged and her playlist on shuffle, she started remembering. The music was merely beats to her ear. Besides the chord and melody, there was nothing else to it. The lyrics were drowned by the memories.

It was something similar to an oneiroid, exactly like the professor explained in Psychiatry class. The memories were arranged chronologically, as if by snapshots, one by one replaying in her mind. Between those flashes of memories, the pitch black darkness of Moscow Metro reminded her what reality was in comparison to the comfort of her thoughts.

It wasn’t comfort.

She wasn’t comforted by the thoughts and the memories of the times they spent together.

She didn’t feel regret. 

But there was a trace of resentment hiding somewhere behind the heavy drapes aligning her consciousness.

She just wondered why they kept coming back to her, these flashes of precious moments. It’s not something she wants to forget, but it’s also something she wants to see being projected in her mind. Not now. She wants it locked down inside, and then, somewhat later in life, she would want to caress them back in fond remembrance of her youth.

As she pondered on these thoughts alone with the accompaniment of Daniel Beddingfield’s If You’re Not the One, sitting crossed legged alone in the orange lit room, she thought to herself;

So this is how my heart breaks.

Memories are like colourful balloons.
But if these were my memories, I'd want to pop them one by one.
So that only the burst remnants remain.
Then I'd pick them up and lock them away.

That girl.

She was not one to drown in a crowd of people. He smiled in adoration as he spotted her distinctively among the swarm of people; in contrast to the average Asian stature, she towers above the rest. She was breathtakingly gorgeous, as she always is. Those long legs were well complimented by a pair of dark blue skinny jeans, and the black studded heels accentuated her height. Her steps were arranged in a graceful sequel of motion, causing the trimmings of the pale yellow printed dress to ruffle delicately with every step she took.

His heart swelled with pride at the sideway glances and second looks she get from the male population as she made her way across the marble covered floor of KLIA. It didn’t bother him as much as it did before. He became accustomed to it. Even expectant of it now.

Take a good look, guys. That’s my girl.

Their gazes met halfway in between, and at the sight of him, she squealed in that lovely manner she always did, and ran up to him, throwing her arms around his neck in a much awaited hug.

I miss you, Boo.

I miss you too.

Walking hand in hand was one of the pleasures of life for him. Fingers interlocked, hands swinging lightly to their idle steps.

She held up the keys to the red Audi in a half expectant manner. One look at those dilated brown pupils, and he could smell the urge inside of her to drive. Driving was her ecstasy. And he wasn’t about to deprive her of it. Not if he can help it.

He let out a small laugh as he shook his head lightly, making his way to the passenger seat instead. With that, she flashed him a smile, revealing a dimpled cheek that made giving up the wheels so much more worth it.

He glanced at the sight of her in the driver’s seat as the red Audi sped at 180km/hr across the highway. The white rimmed shades balanced on her nose, lips slightly curved in a contented smile and fingers tapping lightly to the beat of Black Eyed Peas blaring from the speakers. Music is her life. And he found his head bobbing to the beat, because being with her made everything addictive.

Spotting the Nikon dslr back on the backseat of the car, he reached out for it to take a look. The pictures flashing on the screen was breathtakingly beautiful. She has improved so much since she first started the hobby, which was only a few months ago. That is just who she is. Once she puts her mind into doing something, there’s nothing or no one that can stop her. She strives only for the best and thinks only of improvement. Sometimes it worries him, that she’d push herself over her limits, but to that she responded that The sky is my limit. And so he let her fly, and indeed she soared high.

The apartment was filled with a delicious aroma of freshly baked pastries as he made his way out of the shower. Exiting their shared bedroom, he made his way towards the kitchen, to the view of her back, hair let down in a cascade of ebony waves, fussing over something in the oven. She let out a triumphant cheer as she pulled out the Pyrex bowl and brought it over to the counter where he was waiting with anticipation. She couldn’t really cook, but she made up to it by baking, which is something she is excellent at. He didn’t know how it actually started, this particular hobby of hers, but all he remembered was coming home to a plate of freshly baked pastries that renders him speechless.

Her eyes sparkled as she spooned out a piece of the apple pie onto a plate and pushed it towards him. By the time he was tasting it, she was already anxious, chewing on the edges of her lips and she awaited his judgment. And of course, she never disappoints. Never.

The movement of time was a subjective matter. But he found himself wondering why time flew when he was with her. It seems that it was seconds ago that he had just arrived from Moscow, but now, he found himself on the queen sized oak-wood bed, underneath the sheets of satin white, waiting for sleep to descend. She looked so serene sleeping. A small snore escaped her lips as she scooted closer to him. He smiled tenderly, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face. All that matters now, is at the end of the day, she is lying like this, next to him, and he wouldn't ask for anything more.

Nothing is perfect. 

But being with her makes everything complete.